It filters into the head of the constable that the wealthiest and most popular of W——'s lawyers, and the bondsman and firm friend of the absent sheriff, are hardly the men to baffle, and so, for the safety of his own official head, he takes his keys and conducts them to Doctor Heath.
The jail is new and clean and comfortable, more than can be said of many in our land, and the prisoner has a cell that is fairly lighted, and not constructed on the suffocation plan.
They find him sitting by his small table, his head resting upon his hand, his eyes fixed upon the floor, seemingly lost in thought. Evidently he is glad to see his visitors, for a smile breaks over his face as he rises to greet them.
It is not a time for commonplaces, and O'Meara, who sees that time is of value, is in no mood for a prologue to his task; so he begins at the right place.
"Heath, I'm sorry enough that you, almost a stranger among us, should be singled out as a victim in this case. It don't speak well for the judgment of our citizens. However, we are bound to set you right, and I've come to say that I shall esteem it a privilege to defend you—that is, if you have not a more able friend to depend upon."
The prisoner smiles as he replies:
"You are very good, O'Meara, and you are the man I should choose to defend me; but—you will have to build your case; I can't make one for you, and—you heard the evidence."
"Hang the evidence!" cries the lawyer, drawing from his pocket a small note book.
"We'll settle their evidence; just you give me a few items of information, and then I will let Vandyck talk; he wants to, terribly."
The prisoner turns slowly in his chair, and looks steadfastly first at one, then at the other, and then he says: